


Daylight's Different Shades

by tamxiety



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamxiety/pseuds/tamxiety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa is being hailed as the real-life Wolf of Wall Street and Clarke is the photographer tasked with doing a photoshoot for New York's most up-and-coming CEO. But things rarely ever turn out the way they're expected to when feelings get involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daylight's Different Shades

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was writing something entirely different from this when I had this idea, so I hope it's good. Title comes from Love Won't Sleep by Lostboycrow

Lexa Woods was never late to anything. She was meticulous, rigid, constantly busy, and never late. Except for the present moment, when she and her assistant, Indra, were rushing gracelessly up metal stairs that seemed never-ending. Lexa was fit, but tackling these stairs in heels was putting a strain on her calves. Indra, too, was having difficulty--and she was even more tireless than Lexa.  
The tinny sounds of her heels striking the stairs were only serving to add to the frustration of being late to an appointment for the first time in five years.

“Hurry.” She says to Indra, who merely grunts in reply. A sign that reads ‘Floor 6’ flashes past her eyes and Lexa feels slightly less harried than she had a few floors lower. The photoshoot was on the seventh floor of Ark Magazine’s New York offices, which had experienced unexpected technical trouble with _all_ of their elevators when they had walked in with ten minutes to spare. But it wasn’t all bad. A few more steps and they would be there.  
The landing came blessedly quickly, the ‘Floor 7’ sign looking like a godsend. Indra took the final steps by two to reach the door before Lexa. As her boss practically threw herself onto the landing, Indra held out stilling hands.

“Let me check.” She orders. A well-practiced sweep of Lexa’s makeup, hair, and teeth is performed in the blink of an eye. Nothing seems to be out of place, so Indra backs away and reaches into her bag to pull out her phone.

“Okay, this is the preliminary shoot, and hopefully the only one. If the photographer is efficient, we should be out of here with time to possibly get coffee before your 1 o’clock meeting.”

“When are professional photographers ever efficient, Indra?” Lexa snorts, “They are some of the most pretentious people on earth.”

“I don’t disagree.” Indra snorts, stowing her phone and reaching to open the door for Lexa. As soon as the thick metal begins to slide open, Lexa’s face drops into the mask of indifference she uses when walking into any business-related room--eyes partly lidded, mouth flat, not a hair out of place. She strides into the photography suite of the building preparing herself for an ordeal in awkward poses and tight smiles that will be softened in post.  
The space is nicely decorated, surprisingly, with simple black furniture and brick walls. The actual set is separated from the entrance by another brick wall, but Lexa can see the glare of set lights from around the corner. There are various pictures of New York framed on the walls, as well as more conceptual art that serves to add color to an otherwise average space. Old windows supply slightly grimy sunlight that falls in a mottled partner on the concrete floors, barely touching the tiny, unfortunate-looking succulent that is sitting on the receptionist’s desk.

“Hi. You must be Ms.Woods.” The girl before her is small, tattooed, and striking. Her hair is dark and thick and she looks bored with the new arrivals in front of her. Indra brushes around Lexa’s shoulder to provide the girl with an explanation as to why they were late, though neither of them seemed all that impressed with the other. Lexa takes that as her opening to walk further into the space, towards the set. Though Indra was very much for following a schedule, Lexa was the one in a rush. She wants this done with.  
As she approaches the set, the sound of soft humming drifts around the other side of the wall. Curious despite herself, Lexa strides into the blindingly white area. She is greeted with the sight of a girl crouched down, fiddling with the base of a camera tripod. She was blonde, dressed in a simple white shirt that hung down almost to her knees and gray jeans. She was humming while her fingers twisted and turned knobs with expertise. For a moment, Lexa stands still and watches her. She was beautiful, stunning even, like the kind of person who should be _on_ magazine covers, not shooting them. Awkwardly, Lexa coughs. The girl jerks her head up, clearly unaware that anyone had been near her.

“Oh! Hi, I didn’t realize you had arrived, Ms.Woods.” She says, standing up and offering Lexa her hand. Lexa took it lightly, unexpectedly pleased by the softness of the girl’s hands.

“Call me Lexa.” She says, momentarily shocked by her own words. In five seconds she had allowed this girl to do something that some of her oldest employees were still barred from. _What is wrong with me?_

“Nice to meet you, Lexa. I’m Clarke.” A bright smile accompanies the name and Lexa is feeling more worried about this photoshoot by the minute. She drops her hand quickly, noticing for the first time the two gold bands on Clarke’s ring finger, unmistakable in what they mean. She tries not to feel disappointed about a stranger being engaged. It was entirely out of place and unimportant in relation to her and her schedule.

“So, what will we being doing today?” That is said in her ‘business’ voice, cool and in control. Clarke taps a finger against her chin and steps backward to pick up a stack of papers sticking out of a canvas bag. She holds them out to Lexa.

“These are my concept sketches.” Lexa takes the papers gingerly. They feature a superbly drawn female body--that is probably Lexa herself--wearing various outfit combinations. Several of them are suits.

“Your assistant told me that you weren’t a big fan of dresses.” Clarke explains.

“Not for work. In other areas, I don’t mind them.” Lexa says, slightly distracted by the amount of skill apparent in something as simple as a concept sketch. The lines are smooth and flowing, the colors rich and pleasant. They could have been framed.

“You obviously have quite the talent for art.” She murmurs and Clarke is blushing. Quick hands relieve Lexa of the sketches and stuff them back into the bag.

“Can you believe I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger?” The shorter girl chuckles offhandedly. She runs a hand through her hair and steps back again to appraise Lexa. For her part, Lexa does her best not to squirm under her intense eye. Clarke tilts her head slightly, hands steepled in front of her face. Lexa waits for some kind of comment on how ‘young she is to be so successful’--as if Clarke didn’t look of a similar age--or some equally boring, overused comment, but is surprised to only receive silence. It is refreshing as it is unsettling.  
The appraisal comes to a halt when Indra and Clarke’s receptionist come walking around the corner of the set. Indra makes a beeline for the small chair on the opposite side of the room, tapping away on her phone. Octavia bumps shoulders with Clarke.

“What’s the plan? How much shit do I need to pull out of the closet?”

“None,” Clarke answers, “Lexa sent over garment bags yesterday.”  
Indra’s eyebrow quirks up in the corner. Whether it was from the use of Lexa’s first name or the fact that it was actually _Indra_ who sent the clothes, Lexa didn’t know. She decides to ignore it.

“What do want me in first?” She asks in lieu of being stared at by the two girls across from her any longer. Clarke opens her mouth to say something but it cut off by Octavia.

“I’m gonna do your makeup first.”

“I already have--”

“You need more, unless you want to look like a ghost on camera.” The receptionist-turned-makeup artist rattles off. Octavia is direct, Lexa can appreciate that. Her tone on the other hand...

“Actually, O, I think she just needs a bit of eyeliner. Nothing else.” Clarke says. Lexa allows herself to meet Clarke’s clear blue eyes. It’s barely there, but she can see a slight curve of amusement on her lips.

“Are you sure?” Octavia looks astonished, “We usually do the whole gauntlet for anybody who’s on the white backdrop.”

“Yeah. She’s beautiful.” Clarke states bluntly. The tips of Lexa’s ears burn and she curses her idea to wear a bun today.

“Okay,” Octavia relents, motioning to Lexa “Come on, let me do your liner.”  
Lexa follows her to a small makeup table up off to the side of the set. Octavia sits her down without ceremony and begins to get to work. Minutes pass, she’s told to turn her head left and right, all while listening to the quiet sound of Clarke adjusting things behind her. Octavia finishes her job with a satisfied smirk.

“We’re ready, Clarke.” She calls over her shoulder before moving out of Lexa’s way.

“Okay, Lexa can you put this on?” Clarke says, handing over a garment bag, “There’s a changing room by the couch in the front.”  
Lexa takes the bag and practically bolts out of the set. She finds the changing room quickly and shuts herself inside. Blowing out a breath, she glances at herself in the floor-length mirror.

“Focus.” She growls. One girl should not be throwing her off in this way. Hell, she had dominated boardrooms full of indignant men with more poise than she was displaying in front of a pretty blonde with a camera. Angrily, she ripped into the garment bag and pulled out a cream colored wool coat and navy button up. As fast as she could without ripping the clothes, Lexa changed and exited the room. She was grateful for the air conditioning in the building. Wool coats were not meant for New York summers.

“Alright, great.” Clarke says when Lexa comes back into view. She points to a stool situated in the center of the backdrop. “Right there, please.”  
Lexa sits on the stool in the most collected way she can. The collar of the coat being popped gives her a feeling of some semblance of control. It grounds her enough to look elsewhere besides the brick at the back of the space. Indra is still sending emails in the corner and Octavia is reapplying lipstick in the mirror. But Clarke? Clarke is looking directly at her with that same intense scrutiny from before.

“Just relax. Look anywhere you want, I just want to get you naturally.” This is shaping up to be the least managed photoshoot Lexa had ever done. Not that she had done many.

“So, what made you accept Ark’s offer for your exclusive?” Clarke asks, obscured slightly by her camera. A few different clicks cycle through camera while Lexa thinks of an answer.

“I respect it for it’s social awareness and unbiased opinions.” She says as she watches Octavia slide away from the makeup table to lean against the wall behind Clarke. Clarke doesn’t take notice. She merely unclips her camera from its tripod and moves closer to Lexa, lens flashing.

“And how’s it feel to be on the Forbes 30 under 30?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” Lexa answers honestly. Seeing her name on the list had been more of a relief than a surprise. Her father had always expected her to be on it by 22, so making it at 25 had taken away a small portion of the mounting pressure his retirement had put on her.

“And what does it feel like to be the real life Wolf Of Wall Street?”

“I thought this was a photoshoot, not an interview.” Lexa mutters, slightly harsh. If Clarke is bothered by her tone, she doesn’t show it. Instead, the camera continues to flash.

“It is a photoshoot,” She says after several more takes, “I’m just curious.”  
Lexa is quiet for a moment before answering, “I’m not the Wolf of Wallstreet. Not a fan of cocaine. Or fraud.”  
That draws an actual laugh out of Clarke, Lexa can see half of her smile around the edge of the camera. Several more flashes go off before Clarke straightens up.

“Okay, can you change again? Octavia has the bag.”

“Of course.” Lexa takes the proffered bag and returns to the changing room. The second time around is much more smoother than the first and she walks back onto set in a well-fitting suit jacket and tie. Clarke takes her in with furrowed eyebrows. Lexa notices that Octavia has disappeared while she moves towards her stool again. A slight noise from Clarke stops her.

“No stool this time. Uh, just stand there.” The set lights feel impossibly bright as Lexa adjusts herself to Clarke’s suggestions. There are a few more flashes, but they peter off quickly. Lexa glances at Clarke, confused at how the flow of the shoot had been disrupted after one outfit change. Clarke’s eyebrows are still drawn together, creasing into two golden ridges. She grumbles something under her breath. Lexa raises her own eyebrows as Clarke reattaches her camera to the tripod, makes a few adjustments, and then swings around and walks over. Startled, Lexa cut her eyes over to Indra, only to watch her assistant’s back stalk out of the room, deep in conversation on the phone. _Goddamn it_.

“I have an idea, but I need you to stay still.” Clarke says as she approaches. Lexa nods and clumsily accepts the small black object Clarke shoves into her hands as she kicks off her boots.

“That’s the camera’s remote, press it when I say ‘Go’, okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice is scratchy, her throat it dry, and things are getting dangerous. When Clarke disappears behind her, Lexa has to fight the urge to turn around. She is about to ask what was going on when two hands fall on her, one lightly on her neck and the other under her arm to bunch around the material of her tie. A shiver immediately makes its way down her spine.

“Go.” Clarke’s voice is terrifyingly close to her ear, enough that she can feel a light puff of air in the feathery hairs there. Palms sweating, Lexa presses the button. She wills herself to stay still through each of the camera’s timed clicks. Every other click, Clarke slightly adjusts the position of her hands, fingers dragging across Lexa’s pulse. It takes all of her concentration not to allow her eyes to flutter shut and lean backwards. Clarke’s head is strategically hidden behind Lexa’s back, a feat made easier by the several inches in height over the blonde that she gets from her heels. Occasionally, in between adjustments, she feels Clarke’s forehead brush against her shoulders and nothing makes Lexa want to explode more.  
It feels like an eternity before Clarke’s hands fall away entirely and the camera remote is slipped from her fingers. Lexa has to count to ten before she can unclench the muscles in her neck.

“Alright,” Clarke says, clearing her throat, “It think that will be our last shot of the day.”  
It’s hard to tell if Clarke is blushing when her face dives back behind the camera to review the photos. Lexa tries to swallow but finds her mouth to be completely parched. She goes to Indra’s bag and roots around for the extra water bottle that is always packed for emergencies. It’s empty after a few sips.  
When Lexa returns to Clarke, the photographer is still buried in her camera. Thankfully, Indra chooses that moment to twist around the corner and inform Lexa of their demanding schedule. The reminder of her work jolts Lexa back into a fully functional human being. She forces her business face back on and inclines her head to Clarke.

“Thank you. I’m afraid we have leave for another commitment. When should we expect to hear about the proofs?”  
Clarke considers the question with a scrunched face before answering, “A week from today.”

“Excellent,” Indra says “Thank you for your time, Miss Griffin. We’ll send someone to pick up the clothes.”

“No problem.” Clarke says, head back in her camera. Indra gathers her bag and ushers Lexa towards the exit.

“Goodbye, Clarke.” Lexa says as she is swept past.

“Bye, Lexa.”  
Octavia waves goodbye to them on their way out. It’s only when the doors to the studio slam closed that Lexa feels like there’s air in her lungs again. The descent down the stairs goes much faster than the trek up and before she knows it, they are back on the bustling streets of New York, being hustled into Lexa’s car by her driver, Gustus. Indra is rattling off what the rest of the day would look like and Gustus has 80’s rock playing softly from the speakers, but Lexa’s mind is several blocks away, high up in a photography studio. She lets Indra tell her things she already knows and settles against the leather of her seat. A week was a long time to wait.

\---------

When Clarke blows through the door of her apartment, Bellamy sighs into his stir fry. She can hear the gusty, drawn out sound over the muted pops of the oil in the pan.

“What happened?” He shouts from the kitchen. Clarke stops herself from tossing her bags to the floor and looks up at the ceiling. Slowly, the straps of each bag slide from her shoulders and onto the crook of her arms, weighing them down--similar to how she feels in this very moment.

“Clarke?” Bellamy calls again. The thumps of his bare feet make their way out of the kitchen until she can see him standing in front of her. He takes the bags off her arms and lays them gently on the ground.

“What happened?” He repeats, arms crossed.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t slam the door open when ‘nothing’ happened. What, did Octavia annoy you?” He’s frowning, and while normally it was very easy to tell Bellamy things, Clarke had barely processed the day’s events herself.

“Octavia didn’t do anything. She’s the least annoying Blake sibling.” That was a lie, they were both equally annoying, just in different ways. Bellamy was still frowning at her, though, so obviously he didn’t buy the deflection.

“You know, I signed up to be roommates with a 20 something year-old, not a moody teenager.” He says after a second. Clarke glares at him, but relaxes slightly. Bellamy didn’t have anything to do with her own dumb mistakes. She points to the kitchen, where his stir fry is sending oil spitting all over their stove top.

“Go make sure that doesn’t burn and then I’ll tell you.” She sighs. For the first time that night, Bellamy cracks a smile and turns around. The rich smell of his food makes Clarke’s stomach growl, but she feels too high strung to even think about sitting down to eat yet. Her camera bag sits neglected on the floor, so she picks it up and pulls the device out of its padding. The couch is beckoning too, so Clarke plops herself down on it and flicks the camera on.

“So what’s up?” Bellamy says around a mouth of stir fry. He walks over the couch and settles himself beside her. Clarke runs the through the cameras reel until she reaches the set of photos that has been giving her migranes all day.

“I did something dumb this morning.” She groans. Bellamy looks confused so she plants the viewfinder directly in front of his face. He takes the camera in his free hand and squints at the pictures. A few chews and he’s gone through entire the set.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with them.” He mumbles around a large mouthful. Clarke groans again and shoves the camera further into his face. He pushes it away and fixes her with a measured stare.

“Clarke. You know I don’t get photography. What is the problem?”

“The problem,” Clarke grinds out, “Is that those are _my_ hands on _Lexa Woods_ , the fucking CEO of one of the biggest financial firms on Wall Street.”

“She’s really young.”

“Oh, trust me, that’s all anyone ever talks about. But that’s not the problem.” Clarke takes the camera back and stares two burning holes into her hands on Lexa’s neck and tie. When she had taken this assignment from her supervisor, Marcus Kane, he had warned her about the need to be calm and collected in the face of one of the youngest multi-million dollar CEOs, who had accepted Ark Magazine’s request for an interview out of a pool that included Rolling Stone, TIME, and many others. Ark was big, but it wasn’t TIME big, and the Woods exclusive was a hefty story.

“This was so inappropriate, Bellamy! She could have sued me for harassment over this, sued Ark. I worked hard to get this job and I could have blown it all on a stupid idea.” Clarke places the camera on the coffee table and leans back. Bellamy continues to dig into his dinner. Silence between them isn’t uncommon, but it feels deafening to Clarke right now.

“Look, you haven’t gotten a call from a lawyer, right?” He says once he’s finished. The bowl goes next to the camera, pushing her treasured hardcover edition of Humans Of New York out of its central spot.

“No.” She says, hands working at her temples.

“Then, in my Columbia-educated opinion, you’re fine.” He shrugs.

“How are you taking this so lightly?”

“Clarke,” He laughs, “Have you actually looked at these pictures? Miss Fortune 500 looks completely fine with the situation.”

“Yeah, but--”

“No ‘buts’, seriously. It was a photoshoot. If she had a problem, she would have said something. She’s a fucking Wall Street-er, they have no problem complaining.”

“She was nice, actually. Very polite.” Clarke grumbles. She lets her head lay across the back of the couch. Bellamy does the same, grinning at her. She fights it at first, but his stupid, freckled face eventually draws out a matching grin of her own. _Maybe he’s right? She didn’t say anything against it_.

“Feel better?” He asks.

“Yeah, a bit.” She allows. A big, soy-scented hand pushes her head off the coach good naturedly. She smacks his stomach with her knuckles, causing him to curl away with an offended huff.

“Hey, I just ate.”

“Well, I’m starving. Is there any stir fry left?” She asks, peeling off of the coach. He nods and jerks a thumb towards the kitchen. Clarke leaves him to turn on the television and makes her way to the kitchen, Lexa Woods still on her mind. Not including the set of pictures she was doing her best to put entirely out of her mind, the shoot had gone very, very well. Finding good shots for proofs would be insanely simple, though the thought of seeing Lexa for a second time sent weird flutters through her gut.  
Clarke snorts to herself as she dumps stir fry into a bowl. If there was ever anyone who was completely off-limits, it was that girl. Unconsciously, her thumb strokes along the band of one of her rings. At the feel of the smooth metal, a familiar sadness brushes around the edges of her heart, making it sink slightly. Clarke scrounges for a fork in the kitchen drawers, doing her best to ride the emotion out. It fades ever so slightly when the sounds of Jessica Jones playing on the TV meets her ears.

“Don’t start without me, you dick!” She calls around the dividing wall. Shucking off her shoes, she scrambles back to the couch. Bellamy has already got his feet propped up on the coffee table, which Clarke promptly knock down.

“Says the girl who watched five episodes of Daredevil without me.” He complains, giving her a pointed look. Clarke ignores any validity his comment has in favor of sinking into the cushions, forcibly letting go of the built up tension in her shoulders. Lexa Woods is still running through her mind even as people are being tossed through doors on screen, but she resigns herself to dealing with the strange sensation in her gut later. The lights of New York glow softly through their window and Clarke takes a deep breath.

All she had to do was wait a week.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, here we go I guess.


End file.
